Without You
by theforestofravenclaw
Summary: Just in case you ever need to cry, have some Drarry angst. I'll pay for your tissues. **UPDATE** technically a WIP, but will continue to be marked as complete (see ch. 2 for full explanation)
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Hey kids! I'm back (-ish)! I would just like to profusely apologize for literally skipping out for six months. I realise that I've done this before and yikes, it'll probably happen again because I'm just the worst. As you know I have a WIP (it's called Life After Weasley) and if you've been waiting for like literally anything to happen I'm so sorry. I was going to just mark it as abandoned so I wouldn't keep disappointing people, but then I re-read the reviews (which, by the way, make me feel all warm and fluffy inside) and I just can't abandon it now. It will, however, continue to be a long-ass time in between updates, mostly 'cause I'm the holder of several Procrastinator-of-the-Year awards. I promise that I'm trying super super hard to be more consistent, but I get really frustrated with my writing sometimes and writer's block hits me like a ton of bricks all the damn time.**

 **Okay with the updates over, here we go. This is only really intended to be a oneshot, and at this point not really sure how it's gonna work itself out, but I** _ **may**_ **continue it if enough people beg me to. Also, just a warning now, it's gonna have many many emotions. ALSO also, this is my first Drarry, and we're just gonna ignore a lot of shit that happened in the books. Sound good? Perfect. Here we go.**

 **Oh, wait, one more thing. I have NEVER recommended songs for fics (honestly, I think it's a little presumptuous to do so), but these ones are just** _ **begging**_ **to be recommended, so if you want help to feel the feels, I suggest "Chasing Cars" by Snow Patrol, "Iris" by the Goo Goo Dolls, or "Cough Syrup" by Young the Giant. Okay enough, enough. I swear we're gonna start now.**

A tempestuous storm swirls relentlessly around a shadowy figure with a shock of blond hair as he kneels in a caliginous glade of trees. He knows that he should be inside, with his family, his friends, his loved ones, but on days like this, he craves solitude as he contemplates succumbing to the darkness.

A peculiar slab of white marble streaked with red veins lies before him, a wreath of purple larkspur arranged over it.

 _Larkspur. First love._

Tears stream steadily down his face now as he remembers. There was a time when he would've scrubbed those tears away angrily, but he now relishes the ability to feel _anything_ , even anguish and loss.

He remembers the first time jade-green eyes met his with trust and love in lieu of disgust, when that shy smile was first directed towards him, the exact moment when adoration replaced loathing.

He also remembers when those bright eyes dulled with pain, when that smile twisted into a grimace wrought with agony, when his adoration transformed into crippling fear.

Another sob tears from his lips.

He stares at the words gracing the marble, barely visible through the flowers

 _My Beloved._

Below it, two dates. He refuses to dwell on the brief period between them.

 _I love you._

Almost unconsciously, he strokes the engraved platinum band adorning his left hand.

 _Sine te nihil sum. Without you I am nothing._

He feels these words far more ferociously now than he ever did when his husband was alive.

 _It's true, you know. Without you, I would cease to exist._

Oh, how he wishes he could. How desperately he wants to leave this broken mortal world. But he can't.

 _Promise me. Promise you'll stay. For her._

He's gone. He's gone and he's never coming back.

 _Please. Don't leave me. You can't leave me._

The weight of his emotions are too much and he collapses under them. The tears flow readily, now, the sobs persistent. His lungs burn with effort as he struggles not to scream into the abyss.

 _Please. I love you._

A soft whisper.

 _I love you._

A sharp sob.

 _Don't leave me._

Soft footsteps pad towards him, but they go unnoticed in the midst of his torment.

 _Promise me._

Hesitantly, a little girl climbs into her father's lap, hugging his torso.

 _Stay for her._

He wraps his long limbs around her, clinging to her.

 _I love you. Stay with me._

In the midst of a chaotic tempest, the blond cradles the last remnants of his beloved and weeps.

 _Rose. For sorrow. For unity. For undying love._

Together, they will survive. Together, they will mourn. Together.

 _I love you._


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Hey kids! So yes, I know that I said this would be a oneshot, but I lied. Basically what we're gonna do here is skip all the way back to when Draco and Harry first started dating and continue with little bits of important parts of their life - i.e., their wedding, the adoption of Rose, etc. Because the first chapter makes it pretty obvious how the story ends, I'm keeping this marked as complete. I may end up going past the events of the first chapter and talk more about Rose and Draco as she grows up, but we'll see how far I can end up taking this. Without further ado, the second chapter.**

The door of the small coffee shop dinged again, but the young blond sitting in the corner didn't look up, his eyes continuing to devour the text in front of him as he made hasty notes in a small, battered notebook.

He didn't look up when a strong, assertive voice ordered a latte - soy milk, one sugar - and he didn't look up when that same voice told the barista to keep the change - six pounds, he'd paid with a tenner - and he didn't look up when that damned voice made small talk about the weather - 19 degrees and sunny - while he waited for his drink.

He did look up, however, when the chair across from him was pulled back noiselessly - an impressive feat - and the voice rumbled, "Hello, Malfoy".

Very slowly, the blond raised his head, his pale hand gripping his pen tightly, his face ashen, and his horn-rimmed glasses perched on the tip of his nose, slightly askew.

"It would be a shame if that broke," the man said softly, gesturing slightly.

"What?" the blond breathed.

"The pen," the man answered, with marked amusement.

The blond looked down again with clear discomfort. The man slowly reached across the table and gently lifted the blond's chin, drawing away only when the smaller man flinched, pain and fear apparent in his stormy-grey eyes.

"Sorry," the man murmured, looking down briefly before taking a sip of his drink.

Unbidden, an incredulous huff of laughter burst out of the blond as he cast a fleeting glance at the man across from him, scarcely long enough to observe the flash of anger that took over his beautiful face.

"Right," the man cleared his throat, "I'll just get out of your hair then."

There was a moment of pause before the chair left the table again, almost as though the man was waiting for the blond to look up at him.

He didn't.

A moment later, the door swung open, the bell dinging merrily.

And in the corner, the blond still sat, with his notes and his text, the pen lay forgotten.

Resting on the table, in between the two chairs, was a small slip of parchment with a single line of writing in a swirling script.

 _263 Hoxton Street._


End file.
